Rekindling
by WalkTheSun
Summary: Haymitch takes Katniss back to District 12 and instead of abandoning her, stays with her. When he steps in to help her heal, Katniss begins to see Haymitch for who he really is.
1. Chapter 1

_"'So why are you going back to Twelve?'_

_ 'They can't seem to find a place for me in the Capitol either,' he says._

_ At first I don't question this. But doubts begin to creep in. Haymitch hasn't assassinated anyone. He could go anywhere. If he's coming back to 12, it's because he's been ordered to" (Mockingjay 379)._

* * *

I don't know why this is the thought I focus on during the flight back to 12. Of all the things I can be thinking about, this realization is the only thing rattling around my brain. _Your head is so cracked, it's no wonder that all of the important stuff has finally leaked out_. I sigh at this, but it comes out as more of a strangled moan. I see Haymitch pretending that it was the hovercraft's loud machinery and not my soul tearing apart. Leave it to him to be a good mentor like he's supposed to be.

At some point during the flight I must have fallen asleep, because I feel people picking up my body just like before. Lifting me out of my seat, depositing me into someone's strong arms, checking to see if my pulse is strong enough. And before I know it, I'm back in the huge house built for so many people, but where none live. The stench of dust and disuse assaults my senses and tears well up when I remember the people who called this building their home. I let out on involuntary sob and bite my lip so nothing else spews out when I least expect it.

In the back of my mind, I register that the strong arms placing me in a chair next to the fireplace have been tracing soothing circles on my arms, attempting to calm my shaking form. I don't like this familiar act, especially from someone I don't even know. I don't need anyone to be close to me. It's just me and this huge house. I open my eyes and my mouth to tell this stranger so, but right as I do, any and all words die in my throat. Of all the faces to be staring down at me, I did not expect Haymitch's familiar one to be peering into mine.

Feeling much too vulnerable being stared at by my grumpy mentor, I manage to let out a breath and turn my head away towards the cold fireplace. I wait for his heavy footsteps to tell me he's tired of babysitting me and wants to go home where he can get properly drunk and pass out, but they never come. Instead, Haymitch reappears into my sight and begins to kindle a fire in that disused fireplace.

I'm so tired and want nothing more than to crawl down on the floor and sink into it, but I ask anyway. "What are you doing?" The whisper in which I said these words echo around the empty house, making me shiver. Suddenly, I'm not so opposed to that fire. Haymitch shoots me a look that seems to say he knows what he's doing and for me not to butt in, and continues his work. Curling more into myself, I watch with squinted eyes the growing flame. The fire is slowly eating away at the logs, and I can't help but be jealous at this stupid, marble fireplace for having a fire to warm it and make it glow when the only thing my fire did was burn me alive. It left me no survivors and consumed everything inside me. I grow bitter at this thought.

Prim, my little Prim, who was lured into a trap by her bottomless compassion, was burst into bits for it. Compassion—one of the only redeemable qualities to be found in anyone during the war's trying times, and my sister had an abundance of it. And it wasn't even the Capitol, President Snow and his vile roses that called for such an outrageously brilliant, savage plan, but President Coin. The same President Coin that wanted to end the Capitol's reign of terror, but instead desired to instill her own. Of course, she showed her motives after the war was won, killing Prim and dozens of others with her fires, and coming up with the plan of reinstating another Hunger Games. I couldn't have conceived a better trap myself. I laugh resentfully at the thought.

Haymitch turns around again, his brows furrowed as he looks in my direction. He's obviously worried about my sudden maniacal laughter. Probably thinks that my cracked head is beyond repair, and my broken heart is a lost cause. He would be right. But instead, his gaze lingers at my balled up form for a moment longer, and he turns around again, inspecting the flame for its strength one more time before standing up straight.

I suppose this is the point where he leaves with the knowledge that I'm home and relatively quiet, and proceeds to drink himself into a place where the nightmares don't haunt him. I don't know why, but the thought of being in this house alone terrifies me, and I'm scared for him to leave. I don't want him to.

He walks over to the door where he placed his bag upon coming in, and lifts it up. I don't know what to do. As much as Haymitch is not my preferred choice of company, it's better than none at all. But knowing Haymitch, he has better things to do, and he would resent me for pleading with him to stay. He's given up so much already just to ensure my survival that I'm sure taking the burden of seeing that I'm actually okay is far too much for him. With this in mind, the fireplace again fills my sight, blinding my unseeing eyes, and I will myself to count the seconds until I hear the front door open and Haymitch's departure.

But Haymitch surprises me for the second time, and I never hear that front door unlock, open, and close. I do, however, hear the rustling of his bag and his murmured curses when a bottle gets loose and knocks against the floor. When he lays himself and a blanket down in front of the fire and wraps me up in one as well, I can't understand what he's doing.

As he's settling himself on the hard floor, I hear myself asking, "Haymitch, why are you staying in Twelve? Why are you staying here with me?" He considers this as he looks at the glow his hands have from the warm light of the fireplace. His face has this glow too, and despite all the hardship he has seen, I can't help but think that it makes him look younger. After a couple of seconds of thinking it over, he looks up at my tear-stained face and into my eyes. I sometimes forget that we both have the Seam eyes, those gray pinpricks of color that know hardship, trial, loss, and suffering. And despite the new onslaught of tears I feel brimming in my eyes and the deafening pounding of my pulse in my ears, I hear his answer.

"Because you need me."

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**So what do you think? I'm new to the community and this is my first story, so feedback is appreciated.**


	2. Chapter 2

Although he's only been here a couple of hours, Haymitch has gone above and beyond what I have ever expected of him upon our return to 12. He stayed. He's up with me, and although we're not talking, he makes for surprisingly good company. He leaves me alone to my own thoughts, and pretends not to hear when an involuntary whimper comes out of me, which make me appreciate him all the more. If Peeta was here, he would try to comfort me and wrap me in his arms, but that's the last thing I want, and Haymitch understands that. I don't want to be weaker than I am. I'm barely a shell of the person I once was.

_Peeta_. The boy with the bread. The one who saved me and sacrificed himself for me because of his love. Now, because of the Capitol, he can't even remember a time where he didn't desire my death, let alone that he used to love me more than anything in this world.

_Maybe it's for the best_, I think to myself. _Someone as damaged as me can't possibly love him anyway. I can't love even if I tried. I'm undeserving of love. _And the acceptance of this, although a little disheartening, relieves me if just for a moment. I can't love, so nobody can hurt me. It's just me and this big, empty house_. Me and_ Haymitch_ and this big, empty house_, I correct myself. My thoughts go to Johanna during the Quarter Quell when she told me, "They can't hurt me. I'm not like the rest of you. There's no one left I love." They can't hurt me because I can't love. They can't hurt me because I can't love.

I repeat this mantra, gaining strength from the idea that I can't be hurt anymore. The Games are over. There's no one left I love.

Well, of course there's my mom, but she abandoned me in the house for District 4. There's Peeta, but he's so far gone that I may as well forget that he loved me at all. There used to be Gale, but he sacrificed his promises to me to his hatred of the Capitol. No, there is no one left that I love.

Haymitch takes this opportunity to cough, as he took too big of a swig from his bottle. _There's Haymitch_, I remind myself, but I mentally scoff at the thought. Haymitch is as lovable as a dead slug. Just as I have the charm of one. But lovable or not, Haymitch is here. He stayed with me when no one else would. He takes a long gulp from the bottle, and I can't blame him. I want a drink, too, after today. He's just like me, confronting the ghosts of the past. And I realize that I don't give him enough credit.

Haymitch, who always kept me alive, ensured my survival, is still here. Haymitch, who battled his own way through his very own Quarter Quell and faces the ghosts of dead children every night, knows the pain that I feel. Haymitch, who had his brother, mother, and girlfriend murdered by the Capitol, knows the torment that comes with their obvious absence. Yes, Haymitch is more like me than I realize, but so different. Where I am always questioning people and looking out for my own safety, Haymitch has always looked out for mine and never his own. I like to think that with age and a bottle of white liquor, I would outgrow these selfish tendencies, but I don't think I would. Haymitch is a special soul that truly wants to help me. _Compassionate. _Just like Prim.

I halt my thoughts immediately. Did I just call Haymitch a special soul? The idea is laughable. No, my mind is too muddled from the lack of morphling and sleep that the past week has brought on. This is my mind telling me that I need to recover. And with that, I tentatively fall into a light sleep with Haymitch's personal rumblings in my ears, knowing that someone is watching out for me.

* * *

By the time I wake up, the fire has died out. There are just faintly glowing embers, remnants of that glowing fire from the previous night. Out of the corner of my eye, I see light streaming in from the dusty windows, and I know I just had the first good sleep in a long, long time. I think I was so overtired that my nightmares decided to take a rest for themselves. I'm grateful for that.

The quiet morning is disrupted by pots clanging on the floor and a steady stream of curses from the kitchen. I adjust my sore muscles that cramped up when I slept in the chair and turn around to see what the commotion was. And, to my surprise, Haymitch stands in my kitchen, attempting to make what seemed like eggs and bacon.

The events of last night flooded back to me: how I didn't want Haymitch to leave, how he draped a blanket around my shoulders, how he started a fire in that cold fireplace, how he stayed because he said I needed him. I almost find myself smiling at the thought before I remind myself that smiling is for happy people, not people that assassinated the president and have ruined so many people's lives that I can't possibly count them all. That successfully brings a scowl to my face.

Haymitch, of course, looks up from his task at that moment and sees me scowling at him from my position in my chair, and I find myself a little bit embarrassed. I attempt to compose my face into a stoic mask and nod my greetings to him. "Good morning, sunshine," he says gruffly, and resumes cooking. And despite his mildly clumsy movements, I realize he knows what he's doing.

_Of course, brainless, he's lived alone for years. Of course he knows how to cook, let alone make a meal of bacon and eggs_. But I get up to assist him nonetheless. Without a word, I slide up next to him, his blanket still around my shoulders, and nudge my hip against his, signaling for him to move out of the way. I catch Haymitch's surprised glance he throws in my direction, and I can't help a smirk grow on my lips from his reaction. He moves out of my way indulgently, and occupies himself with finding us glasses of water and some plates. I'm surprised that he's up at a decent hour and not already drunk.

Before long, breakfast is underway and I find us both eating at the table in silence. I'm content to continue on this way, until Haymitch coughs and I know he wants to say something. I look up from my plate slowly, allowing him a brief moment of my attention. He coughs again and he rubs the back of his neck as he searches for the right words to convey what he needs to say. I want to tell him to stop being so delicate, to just spit it out because I can handle it, but I don't. Because part of me knows that I_ am _fragile and I _can't_ handle it, but I pointedly ignore this.

"So I just wanted to tell you that I'm going to be staying here for a couple of days, maybe weeks," Haymitch says slowly, gauging my reaction. I allow no emotion to cross my face, but I silently wonder why he's even bothered to stay in this house, let alone inform me of his plans. He never has before.

As if reading my mind, he continues, "I promised your mother I'd look out for you, and I think you'd admit that it would be much easier to do my job if I do it where you're close by." I don't remind him that he lives a house away and he's just going to drink himself into oblivion no matter where he is, but I don't press the issue. I simply look back down at my plate and resume my little bites and attempts at eating.

He lets out an audible sigh from my lack of responses and finishes off his food before taking it to the sink. _He must not like to dirty other people's homes on the first day_, I muse, letting my mind wander to his trashed, disgusting home. I hear Haymitch walk around the kitchen for a while before he takes his bag near the door and hauls it up the stairs to one of the many unused bedrooms in the house. _They weren't always this way_, and I begin to cry at the thought.

By the time Haymitch comes back down the stairs with his familiar scowl in place, I'm a wreck. I'm slumped lifelessly over the table, creating pools of salt water on its surface, and I can't bring myself to care. Through the tears, I see Haymitch's expression soften, and before I can blubber out a protest, I'm in his arms again. He's drawing repetitive circles on my back with his hand in an attempt at calming me down. I inhale deeply before I choke out another sob, and I can't help but notice the tinge of spice and trees and a natural musk that surround him underneath the smell of liquor. I almost can't hear him over my own sob, but as he's smoothing my hair out, I hear him whisper into my hair, "You and me, sweetheart. You and me."

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	3. Chapter 3

We've developed some type of routine, Haymitch and I. He wakes up and cooks breakfast, and I wake up to pick at it. I wash the dishes as my form of thanks, and take up my seat in front of the fireplace. He'll take phone calls, write letters, or watch the new broadcasts Plutarch has set up on the TV. Greasy Sae comes over with her granddaughter to cook us lunch and dinner, which we both eat, and then we go to our separate beds, where I have nightmares. Some nights are worse than others. I wake up in a cold sweat, tears on my face, my heart hammering, and dying screams in my throat. Not once do I hear Haymitch stir.

He doesn't drink as much. Before, Haymitch would drink six, seven, eight bottles of liquor in a day, and now he limits his intake to two, maybe three bottles. To say it is an improvement is an understatement. He doesn't pass out anymore. He wakes up and goes to sleep at reasonable hours. But without his coping mechanism, I think his nightmares become more prominent because I sometimes hear strangled groans from his room.

But not once has he left me alone in this forsaken house.

I try to leave, though. At night when I wake up, terrified out of my mind, I try to escape. Filled with guilt and fear, I don't know where I plan on going, but I always try to go. I try to run away from the nightmares and the deaths I've caused, but Haymitch always stops me by the time I reach the front door. He hauls me over his shoulder, stoic through my tears, and puts me back into bed. He leaves and locks the door behind him so I can't escape again. He opens it in the morning, and I grow to resent his role as warden, keeping me locked in this prison. We never talk about it.

This resentment transfers over into our everyday life, and I don't talk to anyone for a long time. Haymitch takes on his usual sarcastic, seething demeanor, and I see his frustration boiling just under the surface.

At some point in one of our one-sided conversations, he realized that I was not going to respond to him. Quietly, he suggested that I start my weekly sessions with Dr. Aurelius. I raised my head, about to scream that I was fine, for him not to take of me anymore, to leave me here and live his own his life, that I am far too broken to ever be fixed. The words, again, die in my throat.

Instead of the drunken, brave, persuasive, cunning Haymitch that I am so used to, or the seething man I expected, I see a silent man, broken. His gray, bloodshot eyes hold pain, and I think that his question is not easy for him to ask. I nod my head in quick acceptance of his request, just to relieve some of that pain. I keep my eyes on his face. He takes a breath—was he holding it in?—and some color comes rushing back to his gaunt features.

Gaunt? Hasn't he been eating? I keep a critical eye trained on him to see if there are any other abnormalities. His eyes, usually so sharp like steel, are surprisingly dull. His cheeks appear hollow, obvious signs of malnourishment. His skin has resumed a slight yellow tinge, reminiscent if his withdrawal days in 13. His hair is flat and I think I see some strands of gray. How long has it been since my return? I shoot a quick glance past Haymitch's head to the window and the telltale signs of spring are in full force. Didn't I get here in the winter?

The shock of this is mild, but still surprising. I've been in this house alone with Haymitch for _months_. I wonder if May 8th has already come around. I might be 18 and I don't even know it. And I'm still alive. But who's been taking care of him?

"Haymitch, have you been eating?" is the first thing to leave my throat. Raspy from disuse, I clear it a couple of times.

"Sweetheart, you know that's the first time you've spoken to me in weeks?" He asks, surprised. He laughs without humor. "Good to have you back."

"I'm serious, have you been eating?" my voice slightly laced with worry. The first emotion besides pain I've felt in a while.

He sighs and stares at me. "You shouldn't be worrying about me, kid. I'll be fine."

"Why aren't you drinking as much?" I finally ask. He lets a brief, sarcastic smile adorn his features before he answers.

"Wouldn't be of too much use when I'm passed out on the floor, hm? I do have to keep you alive."

I don't say anything in response, instead intent on examining my hands. They're dry.

"Katniss," Haymitch starts, and I look up at him. "Katniss, you're going to be okay." And because I see the honest look in his eyes and the pain mixed in as well, I choose to believe him.

He takes my hands in his large ones and he keeps giving me that honest look. "I promise to protect you."

"I doubt it," I mumble as I take my hands away from his and make my way up the stairs. I don't know why I said that, if I was just bitter from being catatonic for so long, but I don't miss his hurt Seam eyes as I pass him.

* * *

I start my weekly sessions with Dr. Aurelius the next day. He asks me some routine questions of how I've been feeling, what my nightmares have been like, what's my daily routine, what I've done for the past few months. When I can't answer some of these questions, I hear his heavy sigh over the phone.

"Are you opposed to taking medication?" is his next question. Why does he bother to ask? He's the one in charge.

"No. I just don't want ones that don't let me move when I'm asleep."

Dr. Aurelius asks me about my nightmares again. This time, I decide to answer him.

"They're different every night. Sometimes I'm just walking through the forest and I can't find my way back. Sometimes I dream of all the people that I've seen die. Sometimes I'm the one that's dying." My voice fades into a whisper at the last part. I take notice of Haymitch sitting on the couch, his back stiff, eyes unflinching on the TV. Is it just me, or does a shiver run through him?

"And how do you fall back asleep?" Dr. Aurelius asks, drawing me back into our conversation.

"I don't," I say. "I stay up and cry until it's time to get up."

I'm sure I don't imagine the shiver this time, and I see Haymitch rub his face with both of his hands.

We conclude our session, with the promise of medication in the mail, and I take up a seat across from Haymitch. I watch him closely. He eventually abandons the news segment that's playing in favor of returning my stare. We don't say anything for a while.

After a few minutes, maybe hours, Haymitch gets up to sit next to me, and pulls me to his chest. I wonder why until I see a bunch of dots staining his shirt. Oh. They're my tears.

He murmurs things into my hair that sound like everything is going to be okay and that I'm okay. Doesn't he know? I'm not okay. I won't ever be okay again. I've lost too much to be okay. This only makes me cry harder.

His arms tighten around me. They keep me together when I don't have the strength to. I feel myself burrowing further into his chest, making more stains on his pale blue shirt. My sobs subside into racking hiccups. We sit in comfortable silence for a while.

Until he shatters it.

"What do you want me to do, Katniss?" he asks. I hear the hoarse sound of pain betray his usually strong voice. This question is loaded with more meaning than I am ready for. I turn in his arms that are still attempting to piece me together.

He wants to know if I want him to stay. He thinks he's not doing a good enough job as a mentor, guardian, friend. He thinks he's setting me up to die in this big, lonely house.

It's not empty anymore, though. There's me and Haymitch and Greasy Sae and her granddaughter. He's not setting me up to die, he's doing his job: he's keeping me alive, even though I want nothing more than to stay in bed all day. He's facing the ghosts of 12 and the wreck of a tribute that he thought he saved.

I don't tell him that he's doing more than anyone else could, that I enjoy his company, that he's the only one able to piece me together at this point. These things are all true.

Instead, I lay my head against his chest and I whisper, "Will you stay with me tonight? To keep away the nightmares?"

The tightening of his arms and a hum that resonates through his chest are my only answers.

_My protector._

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**My sincere thanks to those that have reviewed! Please keep on letting me know what you think! Should I still continue with the story...?**


	4. Chapter 4

I wake up, the most comfortable and rested I have been in a long time. Too comfortable to move, in fact. But when I try to raise a hand to rub my eyes, I realize I can't move. Before panic sets in, I register the feel of a pair of strong arms encircling me, pinning me down at my waist.

My thoughts immediately go to Peeta, but I scold myself for even thinking of him. He's in the Capitol, he hates me, he has moved on. I moved on. He can't possible be the strong, warm body keeping me in place in my bed.

I finally turn my aching neck to look up and see Haymitch looking worriedly down at me. Worried that I'm going to slip away to my catatonic state for months again. I conclude that I don't like this look on him.

I give him an indulgent smile as I say, "No nightmares this time," and he gives me a real smile back. That looks better.

"Me neither," he rumbles. We lie in bed for a while, enjoying each other's company and the feeling that comes with rest. He disturbs it when he says, "Your mom's worried about you. She hasn't talked to you in months."

A small frown appears on my face as he says this. My mom is still in District 4 because she's proven herself as an invaluable asset to the new hospital. "I'll call her later," I promise, and I mean it. Bringing up my mom makes me miss her terribly and it is too early to deal with this level of hurt. I settle back into his embrace and cling to the last scraps of peace.

Haymitch, however, has other ideas. "Peeta has made progress, too," he continues casually, wanting to observe my reaction. I don't give him the satisfaction and merely hum my acknowledgment.

After a while, though, I speak up. "You were right, you know," I tell him.

He looks smug as he says, "Sweetheart, I'm always right. You're going to have to be a bit more specific." The grin he wears couldn't be wider. And although he's pissing me off, it's good to see that cunning smile.

I snort at his arrogance. "Of course you are. But he'll never be the same. He can't be, with all that he's gone through."

He stops his act and holds me closer as I say this, and I let him. I forgot how much I've missed human contact. "None of us are the same," he mumbles and I can't help but silently agree with him. The Games, The Quarter Quell, the war. How could anyone be unaffected?

At this point, we begin a little game to distract us from the pain we share. No one can really understand me like Haymitch does. We go back and forth, asking each other pointless questions until they're not so pointless anymore. Kind of like what one of my doctors said to me so long ago. Start with the simple things, then go to the more complex. But I think Haymitch went along with it just to indulge me.

Our game started innocently enough. He asked me what my favorite color was, to which I said red. I asked him how old he is, to which he said 41 and he laughed when I said he didn't look it. He asked me what my favorite season was and I said spring, to which he countered summer. Then, the questions became gradually more complicated.

"Are you okay?" I ask and he smiles wearily, the smile not reaching his bloodshot eyes. I guess that question can mean so many things to him. This is much too complicated.

"I'm getting there," he says and I want to laugh at the simplicity of such a statement. Of course he's getting there. We're all trying to get there.

It's his turn now. "Why did you start talking again?" he asks me curiously. I hesitate, thinking about how truthfully I want to answer him. As I look up to his eyes, I see that sharp steel that wasn't there earlier. I don't think I've ever been so happy to see that familiar spark.

Without thinking, I respond, "Your eyes." He looks at me questioningly and I'm a little embarrassed. I decide to elaborate before he can draw any conclusions. "They looked like you were in pain." He grimaces slightly and I want nothing more than to change the subject, upset that those eyes crinkle from my words. So I do.

"Why don't you leave me with Greasy Sae or some other attendant? Don't you want to go live your life?" He thinks about it and I'm sure he doesn't know the answer himself. Or he doesn't want to tell me.

"For years I led kids to their deaths and I could do nothing to help them," he starts after a moment. "I'm not letting you go, too." And because I know that's not the reason why he is staying, or he's keeping something away from me, I don't say anything. "Why aren't you upset over Peeta?"

"I am," I tell him. "But it's better for both of us if I just move on. He has. And I think I have, too." I speak like he's never going to recover, like he's gone forever. He probably is, all because of those days of Capitol torture and hijacking. Or maybe he's just realized how unlovable and damaged I really am. And as Haymitch rubs a familiar circle on my arm and nestles my hair with his chin, I wonder if he has ever loved somebody. So I ask.

He stops his motions immediately, which I distinctly regret because it was soothing. I feel his tense muscles around me. I think he muttered something about hard questions and he didn't say anything else. I am about to apologize until he says firmly, "Yes."

"Who?"

"It's my turn now. Don't be a rule breaker," he says with a knowing smile. It's quickly replaced with a serious expression so I feel my face copying his. "Do you still hate me?" he asks and I want to laugh at the thought. Hate him? How could he ever think that? But by his expression, this has been weighing down on him, so I stuff my laugh back in and take a second to compose myself.

"No," I say decidedly and he relaxes at my response. "I like your company," I continue before I can stop myself. "You're one of my best friends and you know me better than anyone else. Sure, you irritate the living hell out of me sometimes, but I guess I bother you, too." I end my confession with a sense of finality, but I add in a whisper, "Thank you for coming back with me."

He holds me closer to him and his warmth. I'm becoming sleepy although I just had a full rest. I still haven't forgotten my question, though.

"Who?" I slur, fighting to keep my eyes open. He doesn't respond, but traces invisible circles on my back, hoping to lull me into sleep. It works.

I don't know how much time passed between my question and the dream-like answer. It could have been seconds, it could have been hours. I was much too tired to open my eyes. I felt the slightest pressure on my forehead and realized it was his lips because I hear him say above me, "Always the last to know." This doesn't make sense to me, so I write it off as the beginning of a dream. It has to be a dream.

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**Thanks so, so much to all of you that have reviewed and favorited this story! Seriously, you guys are amazing. I appreciate all of the support and I hope to make this story better for you guys! Next chapter up soon...**


	5. Chapter 5

I wake up this time crying so hard it feels as if my heart is shattering into tinier and tinier pieces. I'm aware of Haymitch worriedly telling me that everything is okay, it was just a dream, and that I'm fine. If anything, this makes me cry harder. Because I want more than anything for that dream to be a reality.

I remember it in vivid detail. It is the best one I've had in a long while, albeit kind of strange. _Maybe it's from all of those questions last night_, I think to myself while creating giant, salty spots on Haymitch's shirt. I allow my mind to wander off to the dream I just left.

I came back from the forest and was walking in the mostly rebuilt town, carrying my game bag. I had caught a bunch of squirrels and rabbits, and I was excited to share my winnings with my family. As I walked in the door, three little children—two boys and one girl—run up to meet me, talking excitedly about their day and what I missed when I was gone. _These are my kids_, I think in astonishment. There's no doubt because they look like tiny replicas of me and the Seam heritage from which they've come from. And because they're so innocent with their gray Seam eyes and dark Seam hair, I give each one a giant hug and kiss, happy to see them. And I know this is a dream, because I promised myself to never have kids.

The youngest, a girl around 3 years old, smiles as she grabs my hand and traces invisible shapes and letters until she finally settles on my third finger, where a ring lies. I extract my hand from the girl and examine a dainty gold ring with a large diamond surrounded by blue gems. _A wedding ring_, I tell myself belatedly. I'm not the marrying kind. Why would my subconscious stir this up?

Before I know it, I'm picked up and hugged by someone in a dark green shirt that smells like the woods and spice and home so I hug them back. I think this man is my husband. He whispers that he missed me in my ear, and I return his sentiments, because I did miss him. I think. And as he pulls back, I see his face for the first time.

It's Haymitch.

I'm brought back to reality by the grip Haymitch has on me. I find his hold becoming tighter because a fresh new wave of sobs has erupted from my throat, scaring both me and him from their intensity. That dream is a life that I can never have because no one can love me and I can love no one, but it gives me a vivid example of what my life could have been like. And even though I swore I would never settle down, I want it, crave it, desire it. Need it. It's no longer a comfort that I can't love because I want that joy in my life, even if it means more pain.

I tell myself it was just coincidence that Haymitch held the role of my husband in my dream. He's been the only man I've seen in months and he's been taking care of me, so it's natural that he would fill that position. When he tells me again that everything will be okay, I think of what a great husband and father he would actually make. He deserves a family, not a wreck of a girl like me.

But he's here, and I've never been so thankful. If anyone else were here, they wouldn't know how to react to my sometimes catatonic state, my inability to eat, go outside, or enjoy life. They wouldn't be able to handle my silence and depression day after day after day. They would be terrified of my violent nightmares and attempts of escape and would unfailingly ship me off to Dr. Aurelius in the Capitol in no time. I want no one else but Haymitch to take care of me because he understands. And he's not letting go.

My sobs quiet after an hour or so. His grip on me has not relaxed, however. He's keeping me glued to him, afraid that if he lets go for just one second, I won't come back. I guess I'm scared of that, too. Exhausted from my crying session and numb from the longing I have for my dream, I take deep breaths to calm myself. I trace circles in the fabric of Haymitch's shirt, just as he did to mine. It's still dark outside, telling me that it's some time before dawn.

A long time after, he asks me what my nightmare was about. I told him it wasn't a nightmare, but a dream. An amazing, unforgettable dream. This confuses him further.

"If it was so great, then why were you crying so much?"

"Because I can never have it," I respond hoarsely.

He lets me rest for an hour or so until he insists I get out of bed because he's making breakfast. I follow him robotically down the stairs and wait at the table obediently. All I really want to do is lie down again, but I know Haymitch won't let me and I'm too tired to fight with him about it.

He places a hearty meal on the table and tells me to eat it all. He takes a seat across from mine and stares at me while I'm eating. He doesn't move until the plate is clean and I'm finished.

"Come on," he says after he takes my plate to the sink. He's helping me up and putting my hunting jacket around my shoulders. I realize that he's putting his shoes on now, so I put my boots on, too.

"Where are we going?" I ask as he leads me out the front door.

"The town. I think you should see it. It's improved a lot in the past few months and it's about time for you to get out of the house." He doesn't add how he wants me to stay active after my emotional breakdown, but I can guess that is his actual motive. As we exit Victor's Village, I find myself taking deep breaths of warm spring air. This is the first time I've been outside since my arrival.

He places my arm through his, silently supporting me as we make our way to town. Some people are in the streets already, despite the early hour. Some give me encouraging smiles while others stare at me in disbelief, wondering where I've been for the past few months. I can't blame them. I don't know where I was either.

Haymitch takes me on a tour and shows me the construction on the old Justice Building, now becoming some sort of hall. It will operate just as the Justice Building did, but it will be bigger and more accessible to the people, or so he tells me. He shows me the homes being reconstructed and the hopeful families who live there. He takes me to the Meadow where a few flowers are blooming and grass is growing, and I ask him if we can stop for a while. Miraculously, the Meadow is mostly untouched aside from some bits of charred earth here and there.

As I sit in a patch of grass, admiring some purple flowers, I see my old house looming from the corner of my eye. A quick glance in its direction tells me that it is mostly burned down, and I don't bother to look at it anymore. Sometimes, leaving ghosts to themselves is better.

Haymitch lies down on the grass and puts an arm over his eyes, attempting to get some sleep after the restless night I gave him. I decide to let him rest as I go around gathering the sparse flowers.

_Prim would have liked these_, I thought as I gathered some pale pink blooms. The thought tugs on my heart a little, but I stuff it down and smother it before it can reemerge as tears. There's no room for tears here. During our little tour, I saw hope all around me. Of course there was destruction, but people were slowly coming back, clearing away the ruins and building up the town in hopes of a better future.

About an hour after being in the Meadow, I have formed a beautiful, bright bouquet of flowers. Oranges, yellows, pinks, and purples mix together in a brilliant display and I place it down next to me as I sit, waiting for Haymitch to wake up.

He looks younger, I decide. He doesn't have that critical look on his face, or that scowl marring his features. He doesn't reek of liquor, although the smell is still there, and his clothes are moderately tidy. His guard is down for once, and I smile at the sight he makes. He looks more like the boy who was reaped and less like the drunken mentor who was tired of sending kids to their deaths.

As if hearing my thoughts, Haymitch starts. He sits up slowly, trying to place his surroundings. He spots me sitting a few feet off and he stands up.

"Ready to go, sweetheart?" he asks, and I nod my acceptance. He helps me to my feet and we walk arm in arm back to the Victor's Village with my bouquet in my hands. I like it, so I'll put it in some water when we get home. The house deserves a little more life in it. We're quiet on the way home, and I think Haymitch knows I just need some time to order my thoughts.

We go inside and as I'm looking for a vase, I come across an old box of my mother's. She used to store excess bandages and ointments in it, and I remember my promise to call her. I place the flowers on the table on my way to the phone.

Haymitch shoots me a curious glance as I dial the number to the hospital where my mother works. As the phone rings, I ask him to find a vase for me, and he obliges. He has been very obliging recently, and I decide to ask him why if we ever play that question game again.

My thoughts trail off as I hear someone pick up on the other side of the call. "Hello?" my mother asks and I start to choke up at the sound of her voice. As much as I hate to admit it, I miss my mother.

A moment of silence reigns and I tell myself that now it's my turn to talk.

"Hi, mom," I say breathlessly.

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**Hope you guys liked it; let me know how I'm doing in the reviews! Thank you again to everyone that has reviewed. Bear with me, romance comes in the next couple of chapters...**


	6. Chapter 6

Haymitch and I fall into a comfortable routine and I find myself getting better with each passing day. Spring has faded into summer and the medication Dr. Aurelius prescribed me seems to be working. I talk to my mom almost every day, thanks to Haymitch. Haymitch and I go on long walks, usually to the Meadow. Not a lot of people go there, and it has sort of become our place to rest.

I still have nightmares, though. People dying, blood splattered on my hands, blaming me for their deaths. But he's always there, pulling me back to him, back to reality. Haymitch has his nightmares, too. He doesn't scream like I do, but I wake up to his heart pounding in his chest, his entire body stiff and tense. During these times I hold his shaking hands and whisper things to him until he relaxes and goes back to sleep.

The first night I saw him have a nightmare was a particularly bad episode for him. It was after watching a re-run of my trial on TV, and how I got out of a sentence because everyone thought I was suffering from something called PTSD. I saw Haymitch in a lot of the shots—drunk out of his mind—and Gale, too stoic to reveal any emotion. A lot of people testified on my behalf to save me. Annie, Johanna, Gale, Beetee, Plutarch, Haymitch, and that is only naming a few. Touched by this gesture, I decide to call and thank them all the next morning.

We went to bed like any other night.

I woke up, though. In the middle of the night. I blink the sleep out of my eyes to try and see what roused me out of my slumber, until I feel it. Haymitch is shaking underneath me. I turn over to see his eyes open, unseeing, staring at a spot somewhere above my head. _Nightmares_, I think, even though I've never seen him have one. The haunted look is familiar enough.

"Haymitch," I say quietly, hoping to coax him back to reality. He doesn't respond. I grab his hands, shaking next to my face, and hold them tight in mine. "Haymitch, it was just a dream." He keeps on shaking.

I crawl into his arms and touch his face, trying to rouse him. I put my head under his chin and just let him have something to hold onto. "It's okay," I tell him, just as he's told me so many times. "You're okay, everything's fine."

This eventually works and his body slowly uncoils, relaxing. He registers my presence and he starts returning my embrace and I can't help but be relieved that he's come out of the nightmare that has been torturing him. "What are you thinking?" I ask quietly as I keep my eyes fixated on his shirt-clad chest.

He tells me. He tells me about the nightmares he faces every night, how he relives Maysilee Donner's death again and again, trying to find some way to save her. How he dreams of each and every tribute he's led to the arena, lost despite his efforts. How the Capitol killed his family after he pulled his stunt with the force field. He doesn't tell me, but I think he's scared of losing me, too.

He begins to shake again, but it's not from the nightmares. He reaches over blindly to the nightstand to find some liquor, only to find it empty. He curses loudly, and I realize his shakes are from withdrawals. I crawl out of his arms and go downstairs to find him a bottle and bring it back to him. He grunts his thanks as he drinks it.

"Why are you trying to get sober?" I ask him. Isn't the reason why he started drinking in the first place was to chase away nightmares from the Games? And as I look at his still-shaking form, I realize something I haven't seen before. _He's vulnerable_.

"We've been over this. Me passed out is not going to help you."

"Yeah, but I don't want to see you hurting because of me," I tell him.

"You didn't cause these nightmares. I'm just finally growing up and facing them," he tells me without looking me in the eyes.

"What was your family like, Haymitch?" I ask, curious, settling against him. He holds me in one arm and holds his bottle in the other, and this feels like such a Haymitch thing to do that I can't help but smile.

"Brave. Really, really brave," he says as he takes another gulp. "My dad died from some lung disease in the mines when I was eleven, so I had to sign up for tessera for my younger brother and mom. He was the one that taught me how to use a knife. My mom was tough, but kind. She always helped people and wanted nothing in return. My little brother was the same way. They were so selfless, they didn't deserve to die."

"It's not your fault that they're gone," I tell him quietly. "It's the Capitol's." He grunts at this, and he probably doesn't believe me. "I think I would have liked them," I say thoughtfully, and Haymitch shoots me a glance. His family sounded a lot like mine.

"I think they would have liked you, too," he says, and doesn't say anything else. I tentatively drift off to sleep, the sound of Haymitch drinking in my ears.

* * *

When I wake up in the morning, I see Haymitch staring out the window, propped up against the headboard.

"Hey," I offer, turning on my side to see him better. He looks more like his gruff, Haymitch self, ready to take on the world and everything it throws at him.

"Morning, sweetheart," he says, abandoning the window and looking at me instead. "How'd you sleep?"

"Well enough. What about you, how are you doing?"

"Not as bad as I thought I would be. Kind of calm, actually," he says and I believe him. Maybe facing the unknown has helped him somehow. "So, what do you want to do today?"

"I just want to lie here," I admit, burrowing deeper in the covers for emphasis. He shakes his head as he throws the covers off me.

"Not an option. Come on, get going."

"Why?" I moan. This is not a good morning. Even though I didn't have any nightmares, I just want to lie here.

"If I'm getting up, then you are getting up with me," he says as he stands up and stretches. "And I'm up. Now it's your turn."

"No," I say stubbornly as I retrieve my blanket and wrap it around me.

"You better get out of here because I'm undressing and getting in the shower," he challenges, quirking an eyebrow.

"Go ahead," I say, although I'm a bit wary. He knows I'm uncomfortable with people's naked bodies. I silently curse him for knowing me so well.

"Suit yourself, sweetheart," he says as he reaches for the waistband of his slacks. His eyes hold mine and I realize he's actually going to do it. I let out an unceremonious squeak and run from the room, my blanket clenched to my chest.

I hear him laughing as I run down the stairs and I can't help but curse him for getting me out of bed. _But he's doing his job and keeping me alive_.

After a while I hear the shower run and I let out a sigh. "Jerk," I mutter to myself as I settle on the couch and wrap the blanket around me. Hesitantly, I let myself fall asleep for a few glorious minutes.

I'm startled out of my light slumber when icy water hits my face. I sputter, trying to regain my breath, and I don't know where I am. Flailing, I fall off the couch and onto the floor, soaking wet. I hear Haymitch's loud laughter shaking the house over my coughs and I scowl.

"What the hell! I was sleeping, you idiot!" I shout and let out a stream of curses Johanna would have been proud of.

"Now you know how I feel!" Haymitch manages to say in between guffaws. "Maybe you'll think twice before doing it to me next time!"

"The next time you're asleep, you're dead," I sputter. If anything, Haymitch starts laughing harder. Furious, I stand up and plan on finishing my "shower" upstairs. I ignore his pleas in between his laughs to stay.

His warm hands are on my arms before I reach the stairs. "I'm sorry," he says, his face serious, but mirth still in his eyes. "I'm sorry, but you would have stayed in bed all day."

"Well, I'm up now, aren't I?" I spit back, still seething. He grins and I feel my anger slowly draining away.

"There's the spark that's been missing," he says as he gives me an approving look. "Now go dry off before you catch a cold."

"No thanks to you," I grumble before prying myself from his grasp and going to take a hot shower. My skin slightly tingles from where he held me. Has it always done that?

Surrounded by steam and hot pulsing water, I can't help but smile when I think back to Haymitch's words.

_I have a spark._

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**So, what do you think? Again, review, let me know how I'm doing! Thanks to everyone who has reviewed and supported me so far!**


	7. Chapter 7

I made all of the calls I said I would. Johanna seemed pleased to hear from me and how I was recovering, even if she hid it with her roughness. We keep up a regular correspondence now.

Annie and I have gotten closer. She tells me about how she's doing and her pregnancy. She's about to burst any day now. We've become friends, joined by our love for Finnick and our pain from the Games and the Capitol. I plan on visiting her in District 4 after the baby is born, if I am ever released from 12.

I haven't spoken to Gale yet. I'm scared of what I'll say or what he'll say, so I'm holding that conversation off for now. It will come when I'm ready.

One day, when I don't want to go to bed, Haymitch and I play our question game. I ask him if the nightmares ever go away.

"No," he says. "Not really. But having people around you helps."

While not really satisfied by his answer, it makes sense, so I don't question it. How can such vivid memories ever really go away?

"Gale's been sending letter after letter to you," Haymitch starts off. "Why don't you respond to him?"

I urge myself not to tear up at this. I've made so much progress. I keep my voice steady, which I'm proud of, when I respond. "I don't know what I'd ever say to him. It's hard, coming back from a war like this," I admit vaguely. I don't add how Gale helped to kill my sister with his bomb designs.

Gale's off somewhere in District 2, leading the nation after receiving accolades and recognition for his part in the rebellion. The job suits him. Especially because all of the things he used to complain to me about in the forest are now being fixed by his very own capable hands.

I don't want to dwell on this for much longer, so I ask him, "Why haven't you left yet to find some nice girl and settle down?" I can't help but smile as I ask him, picturing Haymitch wooing and seducing some unsuspecting girl. And despite the amusing scene it makes, I'm scared of the thought. Nothing is keeping him from leaving. I'm almost able to function by myself now. I've gotten stronger. I have a spark. But thinking of him leaving just wrenches my heart.

"I'm perfectly fine here," Haymitch grunts, attempting to pass his answer as noncommittal. But when I look up, his arms are crossed and a look I've never seen before adorns his face. "How about you? You ever going to settle down with someone?"

I laugh at the question. I almost double over by the hilarity of it. "Are you kidding?" I manage to choke out at last. "Haymitch, if anyone fell in love with me, they would be a blind, masochistic idiot."

"Why?" he asks.

"Who in their right mind would ever fall for the girl who has nightmares every night, is incapable of love, is selfish, scarred, and damaged? They'd need to take a pretty huge bribe to marry me. They'd be doomed."

He looks at me for a long time. He doesn't laugh. His eyes that have been so bright lately are clouded over with something that I can't place. His hair falls in his eyes and I'm tempted to brush it away to have an unobstructed view. But I stop myself.

He doesn't say anything else, so I make myself comfortable and let sleep consume me.

* * *

I wake up with a start. _What was that noise?_ I reach to the other side of the bed, wondering if Haymitch heard it too, but it's cold and empty. Gathering my courage, I step out of bed and put on one of Haymitch's jackets that was hanging on a chair next to the closet. I begin my cautious descent down the stairs.

I hear another crash and the more distinct stream of curses coming from the kitchen. As I walk around the table, I see Haymitch lying down on the floor, bottle in hand, with at least a dozen other brightly colored bottles surrounding him.

"Haymitch?" I asked, shocked. I haven't seen him this drunk in such a long time, I forgot what the sight looked like. His bleary, bloodshot eyes make their way to my face and it takes him a couple of seconds until they are focused.

"What do you want?" he slurs, turning his head away from mine and toward the ceiling.

"Haymitch, what are you doing? Why are you so drunk?" I ask as I kneel down next to him. He grunts and takes another gulp of that bitter liquid. He hasn't been like this in months and I can't help but think back to what set him off. Nothing comes to mind.

Theories begin to creep up on me, though. "Haymitch," I say quietly, waiting until he acknowledges me. "Haymitch, is this because of me?" He doesn't answer, but I take it as a yes. Our question game comes to mind, when I asked him why he didn't leave to go settle down somewhere. He must have realized he can have a much better life if he wasn't stuck here with me. I don't blame him, I wondered why he stayed, too. I numbly stand, clearing away the collection of empty bottles and pry the one he has in his hand away.

"Give it back," he orders me in a slurred voice, but I ignore him. I put his arm around my shoulder and try to block the stench that radiates off of his body.

I help him up the stairs and into bed and he doesn't resist. When I pull the blanket up to his chest, I allow myself to cry for one minute, just one minute, at what I've turned my mentor into. He could be doing so much more somewhere else, but he's here in 12, falling back into his old drunken habits.

I can't stand not knowing any longer, so I ask him one last time. "Is this because of me?" I say, my voice louder than I expected it to be. He wearily turns his head to meet my gaze.

"You really don't realize the effect you have on people, sweetheart," he says roughly before passing out. I stand up, more numb than before, and make my way down the stairs.

It's because of me. It's all my fault. Yet another life I have ruined. But this time, it was one of my closest friends, the one person I could trust. I stand in the kitchen for a while, not knowing what to do with myself. Do I go back to bed? No, I can't stand seeing what I've driven him to. Do I run away? It's the middle of the night, I can't go anywhere. Do I call someone? They can't come, and I can't be where I just saw Haymitch drunk off his head. As I weigh my options, I hear Haymitch's snores and I know he won't be up for a while.

I walk out the front door, deciding where I should go. I don't want to go to Greasy Sae. She wouldn't understand why I'm so upset. She'll just tell me Haymitch is a drunk and this isn't anything new.

But he was recovering. He was content. And then I killed that like everything else. I look down the street to where Haymitch's old house stands and I know I can't go there. It's just more reminders of his drunken behavior and what he's relapsed into.

He promised to protect me, but now I see he should have protected himself. I always bring people down, hasn't he realized this? I don't deserve him or anyone else.

Undecided on what to do, I choose to sit down on the porch. Sometimes making no decision is the best decision of them all. I sit here for hours, his jacket shielding me from the cold, and I watch the sun rise. It paints the sky with soft colors and I can't help but marvel at the beauty of things in nature. Birds chirp softly and I'm consumed with the serenity that early morning brings.

Until the quiet is disrupted and I hear a familiar roar and crash from my bedroom.

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**How was it? Again, thanks so much for your support! Keep letting me know how to improve! Next chapter up soon...**


	8. Chapter 8

"KATNISS!" I hear Haymitch roar. He is consistently the first one to wake up, so finding my side of the bed empty and cold, he's probably panicked. Thinking I did something terrible and drastic while he was passed out. "KATNISS, WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?"

He's angry. Really angry. I don't respond to his frantic calls, but watch the sunrise instead. I hear his footsteps rush down the stairs, looking for me in every nook and cranny. I hear the distinct sound of glass shattering as he shoves the bottles I collected on the counter to the floor.

He doesn't stop. He's still shouting my name and I can hear him rushing around the entire bottom floor of the house, footsteps pounding wildly against the ground. He'll find me eventually, so I wait out his searching. I can't talk to him yet. See the pain that I've caused. "Katniss, please, where are you?" I hear him plead and I shiver. What have I done?

I hear the door yank open violently behind me and I turn around. Haymitch's hair is sticking up at odd angles, his clothes haphazardly strewn on his body. His chest is heaving from adrenaline and the exertion of running around the house, and his bright Seam eyes have never been more alive. "Hi," I offer quietly as I turn back around. I hear him let out a heavy sigh and I bite my lip. I wait precisely three minutes and twenty-two seconds until he decides to join me on the porch steps.

He sits down next to me heavily and I look at him from the corner of my eyes. He puts his elbows on his knees and digs the heels of his hands into his eyes, as if to destroy a lingering nightmare. He looks so hopeless, so broken, I can't think of what to say. So I don't say anything. But I do begin to tear up and curse myself when I do. _Why do I have to be so broken?_

"Oh sweetheart, it's okay," Haymitch tells me as he pulls me to him. How does he always know? His fingers curl in my hair and I feel his liquor-scented breath on my cheek. "I'm sorry, I'm here now, I'm so sorry," he repeats over and over again. What does he have to be sorry for?

"Not your fault," I mumble, my tears still trailing down my cheeks. He pulls me in tighter, not saying anything.

"Why'd you do it?" I ask him, my face on his chest. His shirt is soft and I rub my cheek against it absently. It doesn't smell like liquor, but like something clean and spicy. I notice when his breath slightly hitches.

"I was being stupid," he responds and I bark out a laugh despite my mood.

"So you were just being typical Haymitch?" he laughs at my question.

"I thought I lost you," he said, swallowing. "I thought you left and slipped away. I don't know what I would have done with myself."

"You would have found me," I say, knowing it's true. He knows me too well. He would know exactly where I would hide. That, and I have a feeling he wouldn't give up until I was safe at home.

_Home_. When did the big empty house become a home? Probably around the time I stopped trying to sneak out at night and started having conversations with Haymitch again. Haymitch has accomplished the impossible and I haven't even realized it. I grip his shirt tighter, unwilling to let go. I need to know why he did it.

"Why did you come back to Twelve?" I ask into his shirt. My voice barely there, muffled from my face pressed into his chest. I've asked him this question so many times, but he changes his answer each time. I need to know the real reason.

He sighs and pulls away from me, which I don't like. He stares into my eyes for what seems likes hours, but maybe it was seconds, days, millennia. His finger trails the spot on my cheek where a tear fell loose and I shiver. The suns beating on my body, it's not cold. His hand covers my cheek now, and I realize I have stopped crying. Why am I shivering and why is my skin tingling? It almost feels as if I'm about to sprint to the cornucopia. _Anticipation_, my mind decides. Why am I feeling that?_  
_

His hand is warm despite the morning's chill. I see his gaze wander toward my lips and I swallow. He inches closer until I can see the individual flecks of flint and steel in his eyes. My heart is going faster and faster, pounding in my ears. I almost don't hear him over my pulse, but when I hear him, the sun that was rising shatters around me, leaving just me and him on the porch.

"Because you're here," he whispers before placing his lips on mine. His lips are surprisingly soft and gentle. Before I can react, he's pulled away. Before I can lean into him, he's standing. Before I can call out to him, he's already facing the open street.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that," he whispers, voice stern and body rigid. And before I can tell him to stop because I like the tingle that's spreading over my skin, he's on the road and walking to his house.

I don't know what to do, so I sit there. I watch him walk up his own porch and hesitate as he opens his door. When he walks in, he shuts it with a resounding thud. I touch my mouth absently, marveling at the feeling that has every nerve on edge.

"Wait," I say to the air, but no one responds. Even the birds have left me. I'm immobile and I sit there, staring at the door of Haymitch's house. I couldn't move even if I wanted to. But his door never opens.

It's a couple of more hours before I decide to walk back inside, his jacket still clutched around me. I make it in the front door until I fall to the ground, sobs racking my frame. I breathe in his familiar scent and the tears come rolling out, leaving me in a sea of salt. I hope I drown.

This is how Greasy Sae finds me. She doesn't ask where Haymitch is, or why I'm crying on the floor. She does, however, help me up the stairs and get me into bed. She shuts my door and goes back down, cleaning the shards of glass Haymitch left in my kitchen.

_It all happened so fast_, is what I keep repeating to myself. I don't know what to think of the situation, so when I hear Greasy Sae finally leave, I go downstairs and sit in my familiar seat next to the fireplace.

I wait for a miraculous fire to start.

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**Haha did you like that cliffhanger last chapter? How am I doing? Still in character? Suggestions or comments are greatly appreciated!**


	9. Chapter 9

I rouse myself after staring at the empty fireplace for a while. I've been doing that a lot lately, staring at that empty fireplace. _Where did the fire go?_ I ask myself. It died out. It's not there anymore. It went to go get drunk.

Nothing makes sense, so I call the one person who might be able to help me. When he picks up, I feel my delicate control slip, sending me into another fit of tears.

"Hello?" Dr. Aurelius says, and I have never been more thankful to hear his voice.

"I have a problem," I manage to croak out. A big, big, big problem.

"Why don't you tell me about it," he offers, and he falls into the role of patient psychiatrist.

"I can't love anyone," I say brokenly and I hiccup a few times, the effects of tears already settling in. When he prompts me to continue, I don't hesitate. I tell him about how I'm far too broken and scarred to love anything, and for anyone to love me. I tell him how Haymitch stayed, despite everyone else leaving me. I tell him about how this haunted place is home again, thanks to Haymitch, and the question game we play when we don't want to fall asleep. I cry when I talk about the events of last night and how I liked the kiss he gave me this morning. I totally lose it when I say Haymitch left.

Going for the easiest, yet maybe the most complicated, question first, Dr. Aurelius carefully asks, "Katniss, why do you think you can't love?"

"I've seen too much, done too much, to love anyone. I've killed people, ruined lives. I'm mentally unstable and I'm not strong enough to love. I have scars and burns all along my body and I'm hideous. Everyone who I have loved has gone away. I'm too broken for this." My voice wobbles on the last sentence.

"Love is not meant to hurt you, Katniss," Dr. Aurelius says slowly. "Love makes people whole. You're not mentally insane. You've made incredible progress these past few months. You're coping as well as anyone expects you to. And not everyone left," he reminds me gently. "Haymitch stayed. He kept you strong when you thought you weren't good enough. He knows what you've gone through and has seen the best and the worst of you. Love is for people who are broken because love makes them whole again."

"What are you trying to say?" I ask, air somehow not making its way to my lungs.

"What I'm saying is... Well, Katniss, do you think you might love Haymitch?"

I hesitate. "I... I..." I can't form words. "I don't know!" I cry and my body shakes with a new onslaught of tears.

"Can you imagine your life without him?" Dr. Aurelius asks me.

"No!" I moan back. This hurts too much.

"And you liked it when he kissed you?" Dr. Aurelius presses. Maybe he's looking for some kind of breakthrough. I wouldn't put it past him. That's why he's the best.

"Yes, no, I don't know! Maybe? He didn't give me a chance to respond!" And I'm suddenly very angry about this. "He didn't even give me a chance, that jerk!"

"Katniss, have you ever thought that Haymitch might love you, too?" he asks me, and the world stops. I clutch the phone tighter, it being my anchor to reality.

"What?" I whisper, unbelieving.

"Don't you think he might love you, too? Maybe that's why he left? Because he thought he would end up hurting you? That maybe he thought you're too delicate right now, so he did what he thought was best?"

And a hundred moments are suddenly rushing past me. When he carried me home in his arms. When he held me throughout all my nightmares. When he whispered reassuring things into my hair when I cried. When he was so upset when I said anyone who loved me was doomed. When he kissed me on the porch. When he walked away and shut his door.

"I really am the last to know," I murmur to myself. I quickly thank Dr. Aurelius with the promise of calling him next week, and hang up. I don't know what to do with myself, so I start pacing to relieve some of my anxiety. When that doesn't work, I find some rope in the back of my closet and begin compulsively knotting it, just like Finnick showed me. Finnick said that he Annie kind of snuck up on him when he fell in love with her. If that's really the case, then I am in the middle of an ambush because I never saw this coming. I never pictured myself with Haymitch. Ever. But somehow, the idea doesn't seem as strange as I thought it would be.

The rope helps me order my thoughts and soon, I'm faced with the reality of the situation. Haymitch Abernathy might be in love with me, and I might love him back. Now he's left me here in this house, taking the word _home_ with him, and leaving me to tie knots in the dark. I'm alone, alone, alone and everyone I love has left me.

_He's right next door_, I tell myself, but I ignore this thought. No, it wouldn't do for me to storm into his house when I don't even know what I think. What I feel. He probably doesn't want to talk to me anyway. Or he does and I don't know what I would ever say to him.

_Do I love him?_ He does all the things Dr. Aurelius says he does. He makes me happy and strong and keeps me alive, even when I don't want to be. He faced ghosts for me, and stayed even when I showed no hope of ever recovering.

I take up my seat next to the fireplace as I contemplate this. Does he even love me? Maybe that's why he was so upset after our question game. I did say that anyone who would love me would be doomed and an idiot, after all. That would explain his drunken binge. And why he kissed me.

I need him, though. He keeps me sane, together. He makes me feel normal again. Like the girl on fire. And maybe he needs me, too. He was so worried when he thought he lost me. I help him come back to reality after all of his nightmares. He doesn't, or didn't, drink as much. Was that because of me? I somehow provided some kind of distraction for him that he needs instead of alcohol? Maybe, just maybe, we need each other, and have started some codependent relationship that we can't live without.

_It would make sense_, I argue. But who am I to say what makes sense? I need him, he needs me, and he has to come back home.

I stay awake well past midnight, still sitting in my chair. At some point, I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I know, weak rays of sunlight are filtering in from the window. Birds chirp happily outside, unaffected by the gloom that seems to be pressing down on me.

At this point, I am only sure of a couple of things. I am confused out of my mind. My feelings are a mess. I am sickeningly lonely.

I feel like crying. I've had that feeling a lot, too, and I don't like it. _Toughen up_, I tell myself through the tears. But I know I won't stop crying because that strong pair of arms is not next to me, coaxing me into a familiar embrace and telling me it's all right.

And despite my crying and shaking, Haymitch doesn't come home.

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**Sorry for the mix-up, my computer is kind of haywire at the moment. Still doing okay? Let me know!**


	10. Chapter 10

The next day, I call my mother to try and make sense of my things. And although she's worried like any mother should be about their daughter having potential feelings for a man twice my age, she doesn't voice her concerns. I don't know if I could handle her anxiety on top of mine.

Instead, she says, "Honey, do you want to know how I fell in love with your father?" I swallow and tell her yes. My mother has never told me the entire story before. Maybe hearing of how two different people, one blonde from merchants, and one dark from the Seam, fell in love, I could make sense of my own situation.

"I saw him around school, but I never really talked to him," she starts off. "I was always with Maysilee and he was always with his friends from the Seam. One day, when I was walking home from school, I heard him sing to some birds. And I swear my heart stopped. Peeta's father had a crush on me at the time, but we were just kids so I thought nothing of it. He kept on trying, though, and I just kept on trying to get close to your father.

"I would see him around town sometimes, and when I did, we always talked and laughed. By the time we were 18, we were good friends. He went to go work in the mines and I helped my parents in our apothecary shop. When I had time, your father and I would go out to the Meadow and he would sing and I would pick flowers and herbs. Those were some of the best times of my life.

"Peeta's father became more forward and after expressing his intentions to my parents, they wanted me to marry him. I was scared out of my mind. I didn't love him and I certainly didn't want to marry him. I found your father in the Meadow and I cried for a good hour and he just held me and sang to me until I stopped. When I finally calmed down and looked in his eyes, something hit me. I just knew that I loved him. I had loved him for so long, but in that moment, I just knew. He was always there for me when I needed him and I was there for him when he was hurt. We couldn't have led more different lives, but we found each other.

"We ended up running away together and getting married. You could imagine how upset my parents and Peeta's father were. We moved into our old home and began a life that we were so unaccustomed to, but it worked. Your father went above and beyond to make me happy, and I tried to do the same. And although I didn't realize it until later, I've loved him since the first time I heard him sing all those years ago."

I stayed quiet after my mother finished her story. They loved each other and they made each other strong. They didn't care what anyone else thought of them, they just wanted to be together. Knowing I was still processing this information, my mother began to talk about pointless things until I was ready to rejoin the conversation.

"Have you heard anything about Peeta?" I ask. My mother seems surprised at my question. I guess I'm kind of surprised myself. I haven't thought about Peeta in a while.

"Haymitch hasn't told you?" she asks. _Haymitch? What does Haymitch know?_

"You've been talking to Haymitch?"

"After you stopped talking for all of those months, he kept me updated on how you were. We kept in contact. I'm surprised that he didn't tell you. But Peeta. Oh honey, he's here in District Four in the hospital. He's gotten so much better, but he can't go back to District Twelve."

I'm not as upset as I thought I would be. Somehow, this news relieves me and I'm able to breathe easier. No more wondering and no more waiting. I can finally move on. I'm totally calm when I ask my mother why.

"I don't think he can face seeing home again. He's literally lost everything. His family, his memories, they're all gone from him now, and I think he just wants to recover in peace."

My mother and I talk for a little while longer and before we hang up, she tells me, "Just be careful, honey. But if you love him, you should try to go work things out."

* * *

I sit a while in the kitchen. It's been so empty without him there and I feel my mind drifting down the road to Haymitch's house. Do I love him? As I stand up to walk to his house, I decide that it can't hurt to find out.

I try to calm my erratic breathing as I grow closer and closer to Haymitch's house. Is he mad at me? Does he even love me? What if I don't love him? Questions buzz around my brain until I tell myself to focus on walking and I can think about these things later.

My heart is thudding in my chest as I walk up Haymitch's porch and stand outside his door. My pulse is so loud, I'm surprised Haymitch can't hear it from inside. _I can love_, I tell myself over and over. _I can love him, and maybe he can love me too. _I dare to think back to my dream and the family I had and how much I want it. I want the joy, I want the pain, I want to love.

I force all of the courage and strength I have inside me to my hand as I slowly turn the doorknob and swing open the door. The stench of liquor and something else I can't identify hit me full force as I make my way inside.

"Haymitch?" I call out, trying to find where he is amidst the garbage. I receive no response and begin to wade through a sea of empty bottles and trash. His house is almost unrecognizable at this point. "Haymitch?" I call again as I enter the living room.

There are more bottles in here and the only light comes from a patch of dim sunlight from the dirt-encrusted window. I kick a couple out of my way and pull a face when I see a bug scuttle across the floor. This is disgusting. I'm about to move out of the room and to the stairs, finding nothing but trash, until I see it.

Clutching a half-filled bottle of vodka, Haymitch lies on the floor, seemingly passed out. The only visible part of him is his hand and bottle, which is the thing that caught my attention. My heart swells with pity and care as I make my way toward him. "Haymitch," I say softly as I kneel next to his still frame, pushing the bottles and trash off of his body. He's not holding a knife, so I gently shake his arm. "Haymitch," I say a bit louder this time, but I still receive no response.

I really look at him now. His pale face, his damp hair, his cold skin, his unmoving chest. _His unmoving chest?_

I can't move. I don't know what to do. I feel my breathing speed up and my heart hammer away.

_He's not breathing_.

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**Again, sorry for the uploading error for the last chapter. I hoped you liked this one, though! I've always thought Katniss' mom not telling her about her own story was kind of interesting, since Katniss filled in most of the gaps from Peeta and not her own mother. So, here you go, next chapter up relatively soon. Let me know what you think of this rather... tragic development.**


	11. Chapter 11

_He's dead, he's dead, he's dead,_ I think and his lifeless form fills my eyes. I am faintly aware of my hands shaking and a scream sounding out from somewhere. I think it's coming from me. My fingers still shaking, I prod his chest, trying to find a familiar thud. It's not there. "Oh no, oh no," I say, panic threatening to take over. "You can't leave me. You can't leave me alone again. No, no, no, no, no."

I look at the bottle in his hand and my mind goes into overdrive. He's had so much too much to drink; he's stopped his heart.

My breath hitches and I don't try to contain a sob. He said he would stay with me. He said he would protect me. He can't lie. He can't go away. "No, no, no," I whisper, rocking backing and forth next to his body. "No, no, no." He can't be gone. I desperately grab his empty hand, looking for some kind of life. It's clammy and a little warm. _Right before I got here he probably..._ I can't bring myself to finish the thought.

He's dead and gone just like Prim, just like Peeta.

Like Peeta? Something prickles the back of my memory. Yes! That thing! What was that thing that Finnick did to Peeta back in the arena? I go back to that moment, trying to visualize what Finnick did. I gather my resolve and still my shaking hands, pinching Haymitch's nose and tilting his chin slightly. I gulp down any hesitation and place my lips on his.

I breathe deeply once, twice, three times and release his mouth. It's much nicer to kiss him when he's awake. I find the place on his chest where his heart should be. I lock my hands together and with the heel of my hand I pump, urging his heart to do the same. I repeat the process for several more minutes, growing tired by each repetition. _He's not coming back_, a voice in my head says, but I push it out of the way. I need to save Haymitch. "Finnick, help me," I plead to no one, willing Haymitch's heart to start. He can't leave me.

As I'm breathing into him for the umpteenth time, I feel a tiny thud where my hand lies on his chest. His eyes open wide and I pull back, stunned. He coughs and sits up, trying to regain his breath. My hands begin to shake again and I can't stop the tears that spill over onto his chest. "You're alive," I choke out and launch myself at him, sending him flying back to the floor. He clutches me to him and I feel the pounding of his heart through his shirt.

He runs his shaking hands through my hair and I sob harder. I can't believe he's breathing again. I extract myself from his grasp and hit him on the arm. "You idiot!" I yell through my tears. "You died and I had to save you and I thought I was on my own! Don't you ever, ever scare me like that again! Damn you!" I let the sobs run through me as he brings me back down to his chest.

"I'm sorry I scared you," he says weakly, and this just makes me cry harder. "I don't know what happened. I just started coughing and I felt dizzy and then you were here," he says, and I clutch him closer. "Why are you crying?"

"Because I'm happy you're alive, idiot," I say and urge my body to stop shaking. It doesn't. So consumed by trying to stop my convulsions, I say without thinking, "I need you." The horror of this statement sets in after I say it.

Love is one thing, but need? Need is for water, for shelter, for food. Need is a matter of survival. My thoughts immediately recall the conversation Peeta and Gale shared when Gale said I would pick the one person I couldn't survive without. _I can't survive without Haymitch_. I haven't been able to survive without him for a long time now. I hold him even tighter, realizing how close I was to losing him forever.

"Do you care about me, Haymitch?" I ask before I can stop myself. His arms hold me closer still.

"Of course," he says in a hoarse voice. I pull back a little to look him in the eyes. Although still wide and shocked from his near-death experience, I can see traces of that thing from before. _Love. _I think that's what's reflected in my eyes as well. This is how my father used to look at my mother. The realization, while surprising, fills me with a warmth I haven't felt in a long time.

"Do you love me?" I ask, holding my breath, waiting for his answer. He looks into my eyes for a long time and I begin to fidget from his intense stare. _What if he doesn't love me back? _I ask myself, but ignore it. Love is not a sudden thing, it's gradual. But it sure hits me suddenly when I find out. I know I love him, and that is so much more than I thought I would ever be able to do.

He lifts his hands and cups my face tenderly, tilting it gently to the side. "Always the last to know, aren't you?" he says before leaning in and brushing his lips against mine. This time, I'm ready for it, and I lean in hungrily, wanting to experience what he deprived me before. His lips are still slightly cold, but I plan on remedying that immediately.

I'm consumed with the realness of his kiss. This is not a ploy for television, or a reunion between friends that were doomed to die. This kiss is real, in the moment, and something we both want. Slowly, I feel that tingling sensation build inside of me again and something akin to a fire consumes my insides. He devours my mouth hungrily, trying to get to that fire.

When his tongue grazes my bottom lip, I gasp, and he takes the opportunity to delve into my mouth. His tongue traces his signature circles and I do the same, both of us vying for dominance in this game. I know he won't give up and I won't either. We're much too stubborn.

His mouth tastes a bit like liquor, but also like some sweet spice that I can't identify. I like it and want more.

We pull apart, though, both of us needing air. I laugh at his bedraggled look from where I ran my fingers through his hair. He must have made me look similar, because he started laughing at my appearance, too.

"You better watch out, sweetheart, you might stop my heart again if you keep that up," he teases and I hit him playfully. He kisses me chastely on the cheek and stands up and falters a bit. Standing up quickly to assist him, I put his arm around my neck like I did a couple of nights ago and lead him up the stairs. I figure putting him on bed rest is the best thing for his current condition.

As we stumble up the stairs, I kick various bottles out of my way to clear a path. Haymitch has the decency to appear slightly embarrassed by this. His room, however, is mildly clean. I can see the floor at least. I guide him to the bed, where he flops unceremoniously onto it, and pulls me down onto him, laughing.

"Stay with me tonight?" He whispers in my ear and I smile. I crawl under the covers next to him, consumed by his signature smell, and go into his open arms. _Together and finally at peace_, I think, grinning at the thought. I feel his breaths evening out and slowing, as our mine, but I realize something.

"Haymitch?" I whisper, wondering if he's asleep. A hum vibrates through his chest, signaling he can hear me. "I love you, too," I whisper again and I see him smile. He brings me closer to him and I lay my head over his beating heart, so, so happy he's alive.

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**So? Yeah? Like it? The romance is finally here! I hope it met your expectations and that you enjoyed it! Let me know...**

**BTW, drinking can cause high blood pressure, which leads to heart failure, so Haymitch's episode would have been accurate, especially if he had passed out moments before Katniss found him.**

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**Honestly, you guys are the greatest. Thank you so much for all of your support; this story is so much fun to write and I hope you're having as much fun reading it. I'm currently in between writing and planning a couple of different Hayniss/Haymiss/Aberdeen stories right now, so I hope you'll check them out when I finally upload them!**


	12. Chapter 12

I wake up some time around noon because the sunlight is bright and full when I'm awake enough to notice it. Haymitch is still sleeping soundly, exhausted from the crisis last night. He looks so peaceful when he sleeps, and I can't help myself when I gently touch his forehead. He grumbles in his sleep and pulls me closer to him, which makes me smile.

After a while, I get a little restless and after prying myself away from his grasp, I head down the stairs. Assaulted by all the bottles again, I make quick work of gathering the ones on the stairs and placing them outside in a neat pile on the porch. Pleased by my work, I decide to occupy myself by cleaning the rest of his house. I go about the rooms, collecting every empty bottle I can find, and after a couple of hours, the house looks relatively alcohol-free.

Although never known for my cleaning skills, I feel the process to be somehow cathartic, and I appreciate the pastime.

Time passes quickly and it's nearing five o'clock, so I go over to Greasy Sae's house to gather the dinner she's prepared. She smiles graciously when I tell her I'm taking it to Haymitch's, but she doesn't question it.

I set the stew on the table and end up tidying his kitchen as well. I clear out the spoiled things in his cabinets and wipe away all traces of dust. I'm almost finished when I feel two large hands on my waist, pulling me against a solid body.

"Is this a dream?" Haymitch asks me in a groggy voice and I smirk. I turn in his embrace and place my hands on his shoulders.

"No, it most certainly is not," I tell him.

"Really? Because I never imagined you cleaning something in your entire life," he teases and laughs. I feign offense and struggle to get out of his grasp. He laughs and holds me tighter, bringing me into a hug. I let him, tracing the strong muscles in his back.

We stay like this for a while until he says, "So I didn't dream it up? You really did come to my house, restart my heart, and tell me you love me?"

I lean my head on his shoulder, my nose in the crook of his neck. "No, that was definitely real," I say peacefully.

"What made you realize?" he asks.

"That I love you?" I ask, to which he responds yes. "My mother and Dr. Aurelius helped me out some," I admit. "But I think it was when I saw you laying there, not breathing, that I realized how much I need you. You've been there with me through everything and somehow love me despite all my flaws and scars."

"What about Peeta? Are you sure you don't want to go find him?"

"Haymitch," I say carefully. "I wish him the best and I hope he finds what he's looking for, but I'm not waiting for him. I don't love him like that."

"I'm not trying to push you away, I'm really not," Haymitch says quickly. "But think about it. Do you really want an old drunk like me?"

I really look at him this time. I look into his Seam eyes that betray worry and hope. His hair is beginning to fall into his face again and this time, I push it away. "Yes," I whisper.

"If you're sure," he says, a small grin on his features. "I just want you to be happy."

"I know. I'm happy here with you. Thank you for waiting for me," I say into his collarbone. "I don't deserve you."

"I was wrong before. He doesn't deserve you and neither do I," he says and I scoff. "I mean it," he says, but I ignore him. I tilt my head up just as he is tilting his downward. Always in sync. Our lips meet and I smile.

"When did _you_ find out?" I ask, mimicking his earlier question.

"Sometime in Thirteen," Haymitch says blandly. "Probably after you pulled that stunt with the earpiece. I waited for hours just for you to wake up so I could chew you out about that. You scared me half to death, running around that war zone without aerial support. I was half out of my mind. Plutarch almost had me put in confinement."

"You're kidding," I say, staring at him wide-eyed.

"Not in the slightest," Haymitch says, giving me his classic smirk. He brings me closer to him. "He did order me out of Command, though. I was so pissed I think I may have kicked a couple of things over on my way out. I'm not sure. I had all these ideas running around my head of how I was going to yell and scream and lecture you if you got out of there alive, but I decided on a more subtle approach of ultimatums."

"How humane," I mutter into his chest as I feel his rumbling laugh.

"Now," he says after we part. "I'm starved. What did Sae make us this time?" he asks, gesturing toward the pot.

"Stew," I say. "I think venison. Someone brought her a deer the other day."

We sit down to eat, and I'm struck by the domestic quality the scene possesses. I decide that I like it as we ramble on about pointless things over dinner. After we finish and wash the dishes, we lean against the counter.

"Do you want to go back home now?" he asks me.

"You don't want to stay here?" I ask questioningly.

"I'll go wherever you go," he admits and I smile. I take his hand as we leave his house and walk down to mine. _This is not so different_, I think happily. When we're inside, I stretch, suddenly tired from all of the cleaning I did today.

"Have you gotten any sleep the last couple of days?" Haymitch asks me as he shuts the door.

"Unfortunately, no, I was too busy being worried over your cranky self," I reply, stretching out again.

"Then go to bed. Come on, hurry up," he says as he pushes me toward the stairs.

"Wait, where are you going?" I say, digging my heels into the floor. "You can't just ship me off to bed and you go around doing Lord knows what."

"What, you don't trust me, sweetheart?" Haymitch taunts, bringing his face closer to mine.

"Not in the slightest," I say as I smirk. I pull away and see his face drop. "Just don't take too long, okay?" I call over my shoulder as I climb the stairs.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he says as he walks to the kitchen. I pause for a moment, craning my neck to see what he's doing. From the cabinet, he takes out three brightly colored bottles of alcohol and considers them for a moment. Carefully taking each one, he puts them in a spare drawer we never use and wipes his hands clean. He leans against the counter for a bit, smiling and shaking his head. "Sweetheart, I know I'm attractive, but you're stare is starting to worry me," he calls without looking in my direction. I feel the blood rushing up to my neck as I let out a little squeak and run the rest of the way up the stairs.

I think I like this new arrangement.

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**Wow 100 reviews? That's cra-azy, son! Thanks so much for all of your support! ****Okay, so, I hope you like this new chapter. Did you? Let me know in the reviews. **

**But anyway, I have so much more planned for this story but it feels like it's... I don't know, not up to par with what I think it should be? Suggestions? Critiques? Should I continue? Because I just want to put my best work out there for you guys. **


	13. Chapter 13

Days later, Haymitch and I are falling into our own routine. We go out for many frequent walks and go out to the train to help the villagers with their shipments. We go down to the Meadow a lot to relax. When we feel restless, we go out into the woods to hunt or just to be alone. I bring my bow and arrows and Haymitch brings his knife, and we see who can make the most kills in a certain amount of time. I never really noticed before, but we're kind of an odd pair, but our dynamic works.

We just got finished hunting in the woods, our game bags full and ready to be dropped off at home. We're bragging about who made the best kills. And before I know it, I'm hit with a sudden wave of nostalgia. Sensing the change in mood, Haymitch dutifully asks, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I say, but he doesn't believe me. I sigh. "I was just thinking about how I used to go hunting with Gale," I admit. There's a pause and I close my eyes, enjoying the feel of the breeze on my face. The wood is my element and I feel at peace here.

"You should call him," Haymitch says, interrupting my reflection.

"What?" I ask, unsure if I heard him correctly. "Why?"

"He's your best friend, isn't he? Or he used to be, anyway. You haven't spoken in months, God knows why, but you miss him. He probably misses you, too." Haymitch says with a shrug of his shoulders. He can read me better than anyone and he always knows just what I need. Even when I don't want it. I place my free hand in his and we continue walking.

"Maybe," I say, and let the conversation drop. When we get back home, Haymitch goes up the stairs to take a shower, rinsing off remnants of the woods, and I take a seat in the kitchen.

Before I have time to wonder if Haymitch is right about Gale missing me, I pick up the phone to call my absent friend. Talking about him has made me miss our days together, and I want to know if he's still unwilling to talk to me. A lot can happen in a year, after all.

His number has been conveniently scrawled on a scratch sheet of paper among other important names, and I hurriedly punch in the digits, tapping my foot anxiously.

"Hello?" a perky voice answers after the phone stops ringing.

"Um, hi," I falter. "Is this Gale Hawthorne's office?"

"Yes, it is. My name is Eurydice, Mr. Hawthorne's assistant. What can I help you with today?" the woman asks politely in a clipped Capitol accent.

"I was just wondering if he could, um, possibly come to the phone?" I ask, swallowing nervously. _Why am I so nervous? It's just a Capitol girl._

"I'm sorry, ma'am, he's in a meeting right now. If you leave me a name and number, I can tell him you called," Eurydice offers.

"Um, okay," I say. I give her my number and while debating whether I want to give her my name, a thought strikes me. "Tell him his cousin called."

"No name?" she asks, perplexed.

"He'll understand," I say and thank her. I hang up the phone and slouch in the kitchen chair, suddenly exhausted. With his impeccable timing, Haymitch comes down the stairs at this exact moment.

Sensing my fatigue, Haymitch suggests that I go take a shower, too, and I accept. Underneath the warm flow of water, I'm struck by the change the week has brought. Just in the past few days, I had an emotional breakdown, saved a man's life, fell in love, and tried to reconcile with my estranged best friend. But, I guess I was in love for a while, so that doesn't count. Kind of.

Clean and warm, I can't seem to find any pajamas to put on. I grab one of Haymitch's long sleeve shirts instead, which acts as a makeshift nightgown. I grin at my forwardness and make my descent down the stairs.

He doesn't see me at first. He's on the couch, watching some segment on District 6, unaware of his surroundings. I leisurely take a seat across from his, pretending to be absorbed in the segment as well. Moments later, when I hear the slightest intake of breath from Haymitch, I know he's finally looked my way. I grin internally and try not to gloat too much.

"What in the hell are you wearing?" he asks me, sitting up, and I try not to sound so amused when I turn my head to answer. Talk about spark.

"Oh, this?" I ask, gesturing to his shirt. "Is it okay? I didn't have any clean clothes because I haven't gotten around to washing them yet. I didn't think you would mind," I finish, feigning innocence.

"Do I mind?" Haymitch asks as he walks around the coffee table to sit closer to me. "Sweetheart, you can wear my shirts anytime you want."

"Good, because I plan to," I respond cheekily with a smirk on my face. He puts on his own smirk as well, enjoying our easy banter.

"Oh, really? Well, Miss Mockingjay, since when have you become so forward?" he teases.

I blush a little at his statement. "I don't know what you're talking about," I say, turning my eyes to the TV again. I hear him huff, annoyed that I stopped paying attention to him.

The TV suddenly blinks off. "Hey!" I say. "I was watching that." Even though I wasn't.

"You were ignoring me," he says simply, as if that explains everything.

"I'll be sure to ignore you for a while then," I say, getting off the couch. I silently wonder how far we'll take this mock argument. That thought leaves my head as soon as I feel the sensation of falling down and landing on a hard surface.

My back to his chest, I hear Haymitch growl in my ear, "I don't think you want to do that, sweetheart."

"Why not?" I ask breathlessly.

"Because then I'll have to do this," he responds, kissing the junction between my neck and shoulder. I bite my lip to suppress a moan. It's that tingle again. Somehow, I manage to get away from his grasp and I meander toward the stairs.

"Yep," I say, smile in my voice. "Definitely ignoring you." I run the rest of the way up the stairs and into our room, wondering what he'll do. After a beat, I hear his booming laugh and quick footsteps follow me, and I can't help but laugh myself.

* * *

**Some fluff before the plot is reintroduced in the next chapter. Thank you again for all of your support! Honestly, you guys are so amazing. Let me know what you thought of this chapter, too!**

**But, yeah, the next chapter starts the real troubles and plot that comes with the relationship of Haymitch and Katniss, so stay tuned!**


	14. Chapter 14

We thrive this way for months and before we know it, it's fall. Annie has had her baby, a beautiful, bright baby boy named Finn, and she has sent numerous pictures. Johanna has moved to District 4 to help Annie with Finn, happy to have people to care for. I still haven't heard back from Gale.

Everything is good for the most part. Haymitch and I still have nightmares, but we're better in each other's company. I've taken to hunting in the woods again, and sometimes he comes with me. The town is slowly drawing in more people, and significant progress on reconstruction is being made.

The only people that know about Haymitch and I are my mother and Greasy Sae. We rarely leave Victor's Village, and when we do, we don't show public displays of affection. I'm proud to say we have a bit more control than that. My mother, although wary of our arrangement, accepts it. She knows I'm happy, and she's not about to tear that happiness away from me.

We eat breakfast that morning, chatting about the recent batch of pictures Annie has sent us, when the phone rings. Unsuspecting, I get up to answer it while Haymitch places our dishes in the sink. "Hello?" I say pleasantly.

"Katniss Everdeen! Just the girl I wanted to talk to!" a familiar voice chirps. My grip on the phone tightens.

"Plutarch, how nice to hear from you," I say politely. If he's calling, there is only one thing he wants. Haymitch's head snaps up at the mention of the name, but I refuse to meet his gaze.

"Aurelius told me you were doing better," Plutarch Heavensbee says cheerily. "We're old friends, him and I. Anyway, since I heard of the progress you were making, I was curious to know if you would like to come out to the Capitol in a few months to film a special. A sort of 'before-and-after' segment on those who were influential in the rebellion. So many things can change in a year, you know," he says, and I don't dispute it. It's true.

I hesitate, afraid I'll say something stupid. "While I appreciate your offer, I don't know if now is really the best time..." I trail off, pleased that I sound at least somewhat dignified.

"Oh, but you _must_," Plutarch gushes. "We'll have everything arranged for you! We'll have your old prep team here, I'll have Dr. Aurelius sign your travel release forms, and you can see everyone again! It will be a fantastic time."

"He'll sign my forms?" I ask hesitantly. Maybe I can go visit my mother and Annie and Johanna in 4. Haymitch and I can travel wherever we want. We'll have freedom again.

"Yes, of course," Plutarch says kindly. "Oh, but you don't need to give me an answer now, I just wanted to let you know. But do think on it, will you? The segment wouldn't be the same without you there," he confesses. "Oh, and before I forget, can you extend the invitation to Haymitch as well? I tried to call his house, but he isn't answering for some reason." I blush at this statement. Haymitch is almost never at his house anymore. I'm just glad that I was the one who answered the phone instead of Haymitch. That would have been hard to explain.

"All right, I will. Thanks for calling, Plutarch," I say before I hang up. I let out a heavy sigh as I lean against the counter, the granite digging into my back.

"What did he want?" Haymitch asks, coming over to where I stand. He puts his arms on either side of me, trapping me there.

"He wants us both to do some war reunion special," I say, looking at my hands. "He says he'll have Dr. Aurelius sign my travel papers and we get to see everyone in the Capitol in a few months."

"Oh," he says, nuzzling my neck. I place my hand in his hair, softly scratching his scalp. His hum vibrates through my body. "What do you think? Do you want to go?"

"Not really," I admit. "I don't want all the cameras on me again. Even after the segment is over, they'll just come over to 12, seeking us out."

"Then we won't go," Haymitch says simply.

"But he'll sign my papers," I argue. "Maybe we can go see my mom and Annie and the baby in Four. You can go and visit some of your friends. We don't have to be stuck here anymore."

"I am not _stuck_ here," he tells me. "I'm here with you because there is no other place I want to be. But I think it would be good for you to see everyone again."

I think about it for a bit. I weigh the joy of seeing people I care about and being free to go wherever I want against the never-ending spotlight the cameras will force on me, on us.

"Do you think we should go?" I ask him. He stands up straight and shrugs his shoulders.

"I think we should make the effort," he says. "Who knows? The Capitol has always been about chance, hasn't it?"

"I guess so," I say as I hug him. A moment of silence reigns. "May the odds be ever in your favor," I say out loud absently. Haymitch snorts into my shoulder. If I've survived a Games and a Quell, I know I can survive some interviews, even if I don't want to. "Okay," I say, decided. "Let's go to the Capitol."

"Always up for an adventure," he tells me and I laugh. He always knows just what to say to make me feel better. "You do realize that Peeta and Gale are going to be there as well?" And what to say to make me think.

I swallow. "Yes," I say, my voice surprisingly strong. "It's about time I've put all this silly drama behind me anyhow."

"There's my girl," Haymitch says as he kisses me on the cheek. I feel him step away and I'm about to protest until he grabs my hand. Intertwining his fingers with mine, he says, "Come on, let's go for a walk."

I follow him out the door, invigorated by the chilly fall air. He puts his arm around my waist, drawing me close to his side as we walk together. We go down to the Meadow, enjoying the scenery, before heading back to our home. We walk with no destination in mind, allowing ourselves this moment of peace. Who knows when we'll be able to enjoy this time together again. As we near the Village, I can make out a figure standing on the porch.

"Who is that?" I mumble to myself, and Haymitch looks in the same direction. The tall, dark figure is standing at the door, hand raised as if to knock, but he never does. He turns around and I stop and stiffen automatically. The visitor looks up at that exact moment, catching my gaze, and I can almost make out his eyes widening at Haymitch's arm around my waist. I blink, wondering if it's just an illusion.

"Gale?"

* * *

**Hey, guys. This is where the plot starts to get a bit more twisted. I've made a complete outline for this story way before I started posting it, and right now, I'm estimating a good 10-20 more chapters at this rate, which is a lot more than I ever planned to write. So, if my updates start becoming more infrequent, bear with me!**

**In other news, reviews, critiques, and criticisms of any kind are welcome! If there's a problem with my story, don't be afraid to PM me about it!**

**I hope you guys are still interested because the drama is going to start soon!**


	15. Chapter 15

"Catnip," Gale says as he walks quickly to where Haymitch and I have stopped. I detangle myself from Haymitch's arm without thinking and run over to meet him, overwhelmed by his presence. He's back.

"Gale," I say as I hug him tightly. "Gale, what are you doing here?"

"Thought I'd check up on you," Gale says as he hugs me back. "I heard you called me, so I decided it was a good time to take a trip back home." I don't remind him that my call was forever ago.

"I missed you," I say into his shirt, because I have. Even though I love Haymitch, Gale has been by my side for years. It's not something that is easily replaced.

"I missed you, too," Gale responds. I move away from his arms a bit to give him a genuine smile.

"So, Mr. Leader-man, how have you been?" I grin, nudging him in the side.

"Good," he laughs as he pokes me back. "What about you, how have you been holding up?" He takes this moment to look up at Haymitch, who stands a little ways of, a small smile on his face and his arms crossed.

"I've been doing really well," I say honestly. I throw a look in Haymitch's direction before continuing, "I'm better now."

Gale shifts uncomfortably at this and looks at his hands before he speaks. There's a moment of silence until Gale clears his throat. "Katniss..." he starts off, unsure of how to continue. But I know what he's going to say.

"It's okay," I tell him quickly. "You're not the one who called for the bombs to drop."

"But I helped to make them," he says, still fidgeting. "If it wasn't for me then—"

I cut him off. "No, stop. Don't even bring up 'what-ifs.' You didn't order the attack, so it's okay. You and Beetee are still my friends and I still love you like a brother, cousin, whatever you are," I tell him with a smile. I really have grown in the past year. I would have never been comforting Gale a year ago, but with time and a clearer head, I saw the situation for what it was. A desperate attempt by Coin to gain control over me, which she failed to do. She killed Prim and I killed her. There's nothing more to it.

I can practically feel Haymitch throwing us confused glances, and I realize I haven't told him of the real reason behind Prim's death. I never finished my theory after I ran out of his room and hid in the closet with the silken things all those months ago.

"I love you, too, 'cousin,'" he says with a grin and I pat his arm. "Hey there, Haymitch," Gale says when looking up, finally addressing his presence. Haymitch takes this opportunity to walk over to us and shake Gale's hand. I'm proud of how calm and rational he's being, especially since Gale and I just said we loved each other, even though it's purely platonic. Haymitch has to know that.

"How are you, Gale?" Haymitch asks politely, his voice strong.

"I'm good, thank you," he says. He raises a hand and waves it between me and Haymitch. "So are you guys," he says, waving his hand some more, "a thing?" He says it casually, and I can't tell what's hidden in his eyes. Haymitch and I have not really talked about our relationship. it's just something that has happened. But we both know without saying anything that we're in more than an average relationship. We'e done too much, been through too much, to not be. So, Haymitch and I are a thing. We're not really defined, but we're there.

Gale leans forward, expecting an answer to his question. I tense up a little at this. What if Gale thinks we're a mistake? What will he say? But then I see Haymitch standing off to the side, unmoving, and I relax. He never left me and I'm not about to leave him either.

Since it's Gale, there's no point in lying to him if he can just see through me anyway. And he did see Haymitch's arm around my waist and there's really no way to avoid that topic with Gake. "Yes," I say, after a pause. "Yeah, we're a thing." I don't even bother to hide the grin spreading over my face at these words. It feels nice to say out loud.

"Good for you," he tells us, and I think he's genuinely pleased. "I'm glad to hear it." Surprise.

"Really?" I say, and quickly shut my mouth. That doesn't sound like what I actually meant. "I mean, you're okay with it?"

"If you two are happy, then yeah," Gale says with a shrug. "It's about time you two found something good for each other." Haymitch inches closer to me and I grip his hand in mine.

"What about you?" I ask, interested. "Is there a special lady back in District Two?" I elbow him suggestively.

He laughs it off and rubs his neck. "No, not in District Two," he says with a grin.

I gasp. "Gale! Is there someone?"

He stops and then nods slowly. Why does he seem so hesitant? "I know you're not going to believe it, but Johanna and I are kind of... seeing each other. We kind of kept in touch after Thirteen and it just sort of happened."

I launch myself at Gale again. "You're kidding!" I exclaim and I laugh, a good, full laugh. "I had no idea!" I say, picturing them together in my mind.

Haymitch smiles widely, too, happy to see his friend have some happiness at last. "Good for you," Haymitch offers non-sarcastically. "Take care of her."

"Of course," Gale says, now smiling widely, and I'm suddenly overcome with happiness that I almost can't hold it all. Who knew that I could have ever gotten to this point? That even though I have my bad mornings, I see my friends moving on, me moving on, and life having purpose again. And even when I want to lie in bed all day, Haymitch is always there to get me up, unwilling for me to miss a good day like this one.

"It's really good to see you," I tell him again and he smiles down at me. I've missed having my best friend around.

"I know the feeling, Catnip," he returns, and it's almost like old times.

I invite him inside, to which he accepts, and we all go in to get some warmth back in our bones from the chilly air. I brew us some tea as Haymitch and Gale make polite conversation.

Walking over with a tray in hand, I set it on the coffee table, where we each grab a warm cup. "So, has Plutarch called you up yet?" I ask Gale as I take a sip of the tea.

"Yes," Gale replies. "I'm kind of forced to go because of my position and all," Gale confesses, but he shrugs. "But it will be nice to see everyone again, I guess."

"You think the reporters will follow us back to Twelve if we end up going?" I ask him, curious for his opinion.

"Probably," Gale replies truthfully. "But if you make some kind of arrangement with Plutarch, I'm sure he'll keep them back. He'll probably be over the moon if you agree to do some interviews every so often."

I nod and take more sips of my tea. I absently take hold of Haymitch's hand and squeeze, and I see Gale smirk over my cup.

"What's so funny?" I ask.

"Nothing," he says pleasantly. "Just admiring at what a disgustingly sweet couple you two make." He laughs as he dodges a pillow I lamely throw at him, incapable of making a retort. Haymitch, thankfully, does it for me.

"I'm sure you're twice as bad with Johanna," he says with his sarcastic voice and a wave of his hand, and I bite my lip to hold in the laughter. Gale suprisingly doesn't dispute this, and instead scowls and quietly drinks his tea.

Sitting in my living room with my best friend and love, I know there is no place I'd rather be. "Oh, my boys," I laugh and shake my head. "What am I going to do with you?" As Gale shoots me his trademark grin and Haymitch grabs a hold of my hand and smirks, I smile.

* * *

**Sorry for the lack of updating. I've been kind of hesitant with this chapter-I'm not really satisfied with it, but you deserved to have a new one!**

**Anyway, how'd you like Gale's intro? I know, Johanna, right? But, for some reason, I see them working together. He's so passionate and calculating, and she's so strong and rational, but both have a side that's endearing and tender. Especially after their little flirtatious scene in 13, I couldn't get them out of my mind. Just call me the patron of odd pairings.**

**Anyway, let me know what you think. Still in character? Still interested? Hate it? Let me know.**

**Next chapter up soon.**


	16. Chapter 16

Gale left soon after, with promises of seeing me in the Capitol in a few months. As I settle more securely into the couch and Haymitch's arms, I let out a contended sigh.

"What's that for?" Haymitch says into my hair. I examine our intertwined fingers and give his hand a squeeze.

"Nothing," I say. "Just happy to see him, I guess. It feels as if nothing changed, thankfully." Haymitch hums and I feel the vibration run through my body. "Thank you for behaving," I add with a smile.

"I'm always behaved," he says sarcastically, but his eyes hold humor. "I have to admit I was kind of jealous when I saw you run up to him, though." I laugh and hit his chest with my hand, which he catches and brings to his lips. "I'm serious, I had to cross my arms to resist the urge to draw a knife and carve his pretty face."

"Haymitch!" I scold, but he laughs good-naturedly.

"As long as you're happy, I'm happy," he says, and I settle against him again. "Did you know," he says after a moment, "That you haven't tried to run from the house in over six months?"

"You kept track?" I asked, surprised. He gives me an enigmatic smile and quirks his eyebrows.

"There's a lot of things you don't know about me," he says pompously as he tilts his head up. I pinch him on the arm to deflate his ego a little.

"Oh really? Like what?" I say, taking his bait.

"For starters," he says, looking up at the ceiling as if to think. "I like the rain."

"Scandalous!" I say with a grin. He pinches me on the arm this time.

"Okay, know-it-all, do you know when my birthday is?" When I hesitate, he laughs, throwing his head back. "I thought so," he says smugly.

"Oh, shut up," I say, sticking my tongue out. Haymitch gives me an odd look and before I know it, I'm pinned down underneath him on the couch.

"Do you know," he says in between kisses on my neck, "that I love you?"

"Yeah, I do," I say breathlessly.

"Oh." He places his lips on mine and I smile into the kiss. His lips are warm against mine, and I feel his hand tangling in my hair. I adjust my body under is to run my hands over his back, to feel his muscles, his scars.

Suddenly, the shrill ring of the phone interrupts our moment and he groans, burying his head into my shoulder. "Right when it was getting good, too," he whines.

I kiss him on the forehead before I unceremoniously shove him off me to go answer the phone. "Hello?" I say, grinning when I see Haymitch making his way off the couch and to where I'm standing. He creeps up behind me and before I can guess what he's doing, he's tickling my sides, desiring a reaction. I bite my lip as not to bust out laughing.

Unsatisfied with my lack of response, he begins tickling me more and I let out a bark of laughter right as the person on the other line responds. "I'm sorry, what was that?" I say out of breath trying to swat him away. "Haymitch, stop it," I say with a laugh. He's just acting out because we were interrupted.

"Katniss?" a foreign voice on the other side of the line questions.

"Yeah, that's me," I say, attempting to push Haymitch with my free hand. "Seriously, go away," I laugh when he targets my stomach.

"This is Fulvia Cardew," the voice replies, taking on a strict tone.

"Hi, Fulvia," I say, hinting to Haymitch to leave me alone. He doesn't take the hint.

"May I assume Haymitch is with you?" she says, her voice dripping in superiority.

"Yes, he is," I bite out as I try to kick Haymitch's shins. That persistent jerk.

"Well, Plutarch said he called you earlier today to inform you of the segment. We actually need to know if you will be attending now, in order to set up and prepare sufficient advertisements for the special."

"Oh," I say, finally escaping from Haymitch's grasp. "Are we going to the thing?" I mouth to him and he shrugs, as if he means to say it's my decision. I roll my eyes at him. "Yes, we'll both be there," I tell Fulvia.

"That's great, I'll tell Plutarch immediately. I'll see you two in the Capitol," Fulvia says and hangs up the phone. I look at the receiver in shock, surprised by her sudden dismissal.

"That was kind of rude," I mumble as I hang the phone up as well.

"She's kind of known for that," he says as he brings me to him again. "And she hates me."

"Well, we get to see her at the Capitol," I say, patting his cheek affectionately. Then a thought occurred to me. "Oh, oh no," I say in fits of giggles. I don't know if I should be terrified or dying of laughter.

"What is it?" Haymitch asks, kneeling down to where I've doubled over.

"Oh, I hope you're ready, old man, because you're going to have to get all pampered and prepped before you can appear on national television!" I laugh, falling over again. I lift my head up enough to see Haymitch's horrified face and I can't breathe.

"Are you serious?" Haymitch roars and I think my stomach is going to bust open. "No way, no way in hell am I going through that torture again."

"If I have to suffer, then you're coming down with me!" I manage to choke out in between fits. In a sour mood now, Haymitch stands up, scowl on his face. "Where are you going?" I call out from the floor.

"I need a drink. I'm too sober to deal with this right now," and he disappears into the kitchen. I let a few minutes pass, allowing my giggle to slowly subside.

"Oh, this is going to be great," I say to myself, picking myself up from the floor. I can just picture my prep team poking and prodding him and making comments on his unkept appearance.

I hear curses from the kitchen and snicker to myself. "I think you look the best in blue!" I call out, teasing him some more.

The curses become louder, but I still don't feel badly. I have to put up with getting waxed, plucked, and buffed every time some important event happens. I think he can put up with it for one more time. "I love you!" I offer up, but I doubt he can hear me over his own anger. I wonder if he regrets saying yes now. Too bad it's too late to cancel.

Capitol, here we come.


End file.
